May 9, 1998 (Harry)

Harry awoke stiff and freezing, his too-thin sleeping bag doing little to insulate him from either the biting cold or the hard earth beneath their tent. He had assumed New York would be warm this time of year, so close to summer and all, but the secluded forest area they'd selected to pitch camp was as chilly as any gloomy British day. He forced himself up, despite the sun only just beginning to peek over the horizon, determined to get the blood pumping.

He stepped out into the quiet open air of the forest, breathing in the American air for the first time. It was surprisingly tranquil and serene – everything he'd learned about the United States had led him to believe it was excessively overcrowded and filled to the brim with excess. But Hermione had chosen their spot well – not too far from civilization, but not close enough that they would be easily spotted. Harry knew how vast the country was compared to the relatively cramped quarters of the British Isles, but it didn't hit him until this moment, drinking in the peaceful atmosphere of early morning.

Until it was rudely interrupted, that is. "Howdy, neighbor!" a cheery voice called out; Harry flinched and instinctively reached for his wand, realizing with terror that he'd left it back in the tent. But to his relief, the voice came from a Muggle hiker, strolling casually down the trail not far from their camp site. We're not doing anything wrong, Harry reminded himself. Just two normal people camping like everyone else…

"Er...morning," Harry said awkwardly.

"Odd place to set up camp," the hiker remarked, eyeing their tent crammed in between two tall pine trees. "Y'know, there's a larger group of us closer to the park entrance. Y'all are welcome to join us there."

"We're okay here, but thank you," Harry said politely, remembering to use his best imitation of an American accent. It was passable, or at least the hiker had the tact not to say otherwise, because he merely waved cheerily and continued on his way. Harry would have to talk to Hermione about increasing their security wards for future nights – it unnerved him to have them crawling around so close by. Muggles never seemed to know when to keep out of people's business…

But when he told Hermione of this encounter an hour later, she seemed unconcerned. "It's perfectly legal for us to camp here," she reminded him. "And Muggles have no reason to suspect we're up to anything. You weren't recognized, right?"

"No, I don't think so," Harry muttered. "Still, it just seems like an unnecessary risk to take."

"Oh, all right, we can put up the repelling charms," Hermione sighed. "But it's kinda nice to be among strangers sometimes, isn't it? Makes you feel less...alone?"

Harry didn't respond to this. He could tell Hermione was feeling drained by the endless isolation, unable to interact freely with the outside world like normal people. He could care less about socializing with Muggles, but he knew Hermione craved that closeness to others, that sense of security that came in numbers. She was still a Gryffindor at heart, willing to throw caution to the wind at times for a bit of peace of mind. Harry would have to gently inject some Slytherin pragmatism into their routines from now on…

"Ready to get going?" he asked, changing the subject. "You wanted to get to the city early, right?"

"Yes, I suppose we ought to," said Hermione, standing to get changed. They planned to spend much of the day in New York City, which, like London, housed a rather large magical population hidden just out of sight. Hermione had been there once, in the summer after their first year, on holiday with her parents. They would be relying on her vague recollection of how to access the parts of the city that Muggles were not privy to.

Harry was not as thrilled about this plan as she was. Hermione wished to gather information about what was happening back in Britain, as well as how the American magical community was reacting to the news of Voldemort's rise to power. Harry suggested that they simply subscribe to a local wizarding newspaper, but Hermione worried that owl deliveries would give them unwanted attention. He also wasn't sure what she hoped to gain from such knowledge – whether or not the US aligned themselves with Voldemort, what good would it do them? They still couldn't trust anyone enough to help them on their journey. But he would go along with it for now, if only to appease her incessant need to always know what was going on.

Harry let Hermione take the lead for their Apparition into the city. She chose to take them to a quiet alleyway a few blocks away from the heart of downtown, which was thankfully empty. They waited a few seconds for the crack of their arrival to stop echoing through the vast urban jungle of skyscrapers, then slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak and made their way through the busy streets of the city.

Even disguised under a heavy glamour, Harry felt naked and exposed here. The city was absolutely crawling with Muggles – businessmen and women jostled for space on their way to work, aggressive taxis honked and muscled their way through crowded thoroughfares, and street vendors peddled their wares for passers-by. Fortunately, they were not accosted by anyone as their quickly made their way through the crowd. Harry noticed Hermione whispering a small spell under her breath, which seemed to clear the way ahead for them a bit; he mentally filed that away to ask her about later, as it seemed quite useful.

Harry spotted the Woolworth Building up ahead, which he knew from History of Magic class housed the American magical government, MACUSA. But Hermione led them instead down a side street, towards a staircase leading underground to the subway system. "Where are we going?" Harry hissed.

"Just hush and follow me," Hermione whispered back. They stepped onto the main station platform, where Muggles began queuing for the next train. But Hermione hung back, looking around the space, frowning. "I know it's here somewhere. I had a book with detailed instructions the last time, but I can't seem to remember just where—ah, yes!"

Hermione pointed surreptitiously towards a man in bright turquoise robes, striding across the station platform, not a single Muggle seeming to give him a second glance. He walked straight up to a door marked 'Utility Closet', pushed it open, and disappeared behind it. Hermione led the way after him, putting herself and Harry directly in front of it. Confused, Harry reached forward and tried the door handle, pushing the door open to reveal...a utility closet, just as the sign had said.

"For heaven's sake, Harry, you have to picture where we're going to take us there!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Otherwise it's just a closet."

"I don't know where we're going!" Harry protested. "You do it then."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she took the handle from Harry and pulled the door shut. She pushed it open again, and to Harry's astonishment, it revealed a long passageway that hadn't been there previously. Hermione prodded him forward, and he stepped through the hallway. When he reached the opening on the other side, he gaped at what he saw.

It was similar to Diagon Alley, but grungier and completely underground. Magical shops of all varieties lined the rows, advertising the latest in school equipment, potion ingredients, and anything else the average witch or wizard might need. Harry could imagine this place bustling with excited young Ilvermorny students in the early fall, but currently it was quiet and sparsely populated. He wondered if that was more to do with the time of year, or the possible advent of war on the horizon. In any case, he and Hermione linked arms and resumed their agreed-upon identities as a married wizarding couple.

They casually strode into the first shop they passed: a bookstore. Hermione went straight for the news stand, which held a number of wizarding publications from around the USA. Harry skimmed the headlines, which were all rather grim:

BRITISH GOV. TURMOIL CONTINUES: SIGNS OF DARK MAGIC ACTIVITY?

RUMORED VOLDEMORT SIGHTINGS SPOOK BRITS; COULD U.S. BE NEXT?

WHAT A DEATH EATER UPRISING COULD MEAN FOR MACUSA AND BEYOND

"Can I help you find anything, miss?" asked a kindly young witch behind the counter.

"Erm...yes," said Hermione. "My husband and I have just returned from a long holiday. What is the best way for us to get back up to speed on current events?"

"Oh, honey, you two have missed a lot," the witch chuckled. "Take your pick of any paper you like. The news is all bad these days, I'm sorry to say."

"So I can see," Hermione muttered, grabbing the nearest paper off the shelf. "What do you make of all this? You think we'll be dragged into this mess ourselves?"

Harry recognized what Hermione was doing. She was trying to gauge just how closely aligned MACUSA was with the British Ministry, or whatever it had become. Unfortunately, the witch behind the counter seemed oblivious – willfully or otherwise – to the truth.

"Sorry, darling, but I don't pay much attention these days," the witch said candidly. "Too depressing for my liking. I'll stick to my Witch Weekly and gossip mags, thank you very much."

"Do you know anyone we could talk to, then?" asked Hermione. "Someone who might know what's happening?"

"You could try the Advocate," the witch shrugged.

"Who's the Advocate?" Hermione asked.

"Not who, sweetie!" the witch laughed. She pointed to one of the papers on the shelf, which bore the header The New York Advocate. "The local rag. Headquarters are just down the way there to your left. Can't miss it."

"Right, thanks," Hermione said, embarrassed. She grabbed a copy of every paper on the shelf and handed over two Galleons as payment before leading Harry back out to the main road.

"Say, Hermione," Harry muttered as she purposefully led the way down the row. "You aren't actually planning on walking into the local paper to start asking questions, are you?"

"Why not?" she asked.

"Won't that seem...suspicious?" said Harry.

"It's a newspaper, Harry," said Hermione. "They probably get concerned citizens coming in and asking questions all the time."

Harry very much doubted that was the case. But he was proven very wrong a few moments later, as they walked into the foyer of the building that housed the New York Advocate. A dozen witches and wizards were gathered there, shouting and demanding answers from the poor receptionist at the front desk.

"We have a right to know what you're keeping from us!" shouted a man wearing turquoise robes, whom Harry recognized from the subway platform earlier.

"Yeah, how much is MACUSA paying you to keep quiet?" another witch demanded.

"Please, everyone, I just work here!" the poor young wizard at reception stammered. "We aren't paid by anyone except our readers—"

"You people are conspiring with Britain to make us scared!" a hysterical older witch accused. "Shame on you!"

"What is all this racket?" a gruff voice asked. A burly, mustachioed man strode out from a back door into the lobby. He reminded Harry a bit of Uncle Vernon.

"We want the truth!" the man in the turquoise robes shouted. "What's You-Know-Who really up to?"

"We don't know any more than you do on the matter," the man assured the angry crowd – Harry gathered that he must be an editor of some kind. "We gather intel from our sources within MACUSA and abroad, and we report everything tangible we find."

"Well, then you aren't looking hard enough!" a woman shrieked, garnering yells of approval in response.

"I promise we will have more answers soon," the editor sighed. "There will be a press conference with the Minister tomorrow morning. Our reporters will be on hand to ask questions and demand answers."

To Harry's relief, Hermione did not join in with the shouting crowd, and quietly slipped back out the entrance. "Glad you saw reason," he muttered. "No need to involve ourselves in that racket—"

"We have to get into that press conference," Hermione said firmly.

"Are you mad?!" Harry yelped. "Walk directly into MACUSA? We'll be found out for sure!"

"Well, we'll need disguises, of course," Hermione said. And she grabbed Harry's arm and steered him right down another passageway, towards a potions supply store. A bored-looking young witch manned the empty shop, barely glancing up at them as they entered.

"Welcome to Boticello's Brewery," she said in a monotone voice. "Where you can find all your potions needs. How can we assist you today?"

"Good morning!" said Hermione brightly. "We're looking for Polyjuice Potion. Do you know where we can find some?"

That got the witch's attention. Her head snapped up at Hermione, eyebrows raised, as Harry groaned internally. "Polyjuice is a banned substance in the States," the witch said suspiciously. "What do you want with it?"

"Oh," said Hermione quietly; clearly she hadn't known that. Harry didn't either, but he also didn't think it wise to advertise one was seeking it out in public. "I, uh...well, we just hoped to use it for…"

"Ah, I think I get it," the witch grinned, eyes darting between Hermione and Harry. "You two are looking to spice things up in the bedroom, eh? Snatch hairs from a couple of models and go to town on each other?"

"What?" Hermione gasped, mortified. Harry nudged her hard with his toe, and she recovered quickly. "Erm, yes, alright. We wanted to...to try it out, just to see. But if you don't have any—"

"Not here, I'm afraid," the witch sighed. But she reached for a quill and parchment and jotted something down quickly, tearing it off and handing it to Hermione. "Take this to my contact in the Bronx. Tell him Janet sent you, and he'll sort you out."

"Oh...okay," Hermione stammered, taking the scrap of parchment from her. "Thanks, Janet."

"Have fun," Janet winked. "And if you're feeling extra naughty…" Harry and Hermione gaped as Janet plucked a hair from her own head and handed it to Harry. He accepted it awkwardly, face burning so red that he thought his glamour might burn itself off. He and Hermione backed out of the shop quickly, neither wishing to spend another embarrassing moment in there.

"I hope you learned a lesson or two about asking too many questions," Harry hissed, rapidly shaking Janet's hair off of his finger into a storm drain.

"Better to be embarrassed than end up on a list for buying illegal Polyjuice," said Hermione.

"That could still happen," Harry pointed out. "What if her contact is an undercover Auror or something?"

"Polyjuice and prostitution have gone hand in hand for centuries, Harry," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "It's the oldest profession in the world. Don't be such a prude."

Harry didn't think it was prudish to feel deeply uncomfortable about the interaction, especially given the way Janet looked at him when she handed over her own hair. But Hermione was the most careful and reserved person he knew, so if she wasn't concerned about buying black market potions, he wouldn't stand in her way.

Less than an hour later, they stood in a grimy apartment in the Bronx, where a gruff-looking wizard showed them a row of illegal potions that Harry could only imagine the effects of. "Two doses of Polyjuice Potion," he said, plucking up two vials and handing them to Hermione. "Anything else with that, folks? Amortentia? Stamina boosters? Perhaps a witch or two to accompany you?"

"No, that will be all, thank you," Hermione said, in a voice that was pitched higher than usual. Maybe she wasn't as nonchalant about this business as she pretended to be, Harry noted.

"Enjoy," the man shrugged. Hermione handed over sixty Galleons as payment – ten more than the man had asked for. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Just...a tip," Hermione chuckled nervously.

"You folks are new at this, aren't you?" said the man. "If you're trying to bribe me into keeping your little secret, relax. I'm no snitch."

"Oh, I would never...I didn't think…" Hermione stammered. Harry grabbed her arm and took control of the situation.

"Consider it an advance," he told the man. "We'll be back for more, if we like the results."

"Oh, believe me, you will," the man smiled, revealing numerous blackened teeth. "I got my top brewers working on this batch. You'll be very happy, I promise."

Likely story, Harry thought. He found it more likely that the man had brewed it himself in the kitchen, which smelled faintly of rotten eggs and vomit through the shut door. But he bowed politely and steered Hermione out of the apartment, Apparating them back to the tent as soon as they were clear.

"For someone so unconcerned about breaking the law," Harry remarked once they were safely inside, "you aren't especially good at composing yourself during the act."

"I was just being extra polite!" Hermione protested. "Why should that make me more suspicious?" Her naivete was especially endearing to Harry in that moment, and if it wasn't for the daunting task ahead of them the following morning, he might have spent the rest of the evening snogging her senseless. Instead, they formulated a plan for tomorrow and went to bed early to ensure they were well-rested for their risky endeavor.

Harry and Hermione arrived early to the Woolworth Building the next morning, unsure exactly when the press conference was due to begin. They sat quietly across the street, watching and waiting for anyone who looked like reporters to walk by. Soon enough they spotted them: a witch and wizard in matching garb, strolling up the street toward the building, wearing identical badges. Harry and Hermione slipped alongside them, falling into step, then, when the coast seemed clear, they each hooked arms with one of them and Apparated away.

They had to act quickly once they arrived at their destination, in a deserted alley across town. "Stupefy," Harry shouted as the wizard beside him flailed in panic to get away; he crumpled to the ground at once, unconscious. The witch in Hermione's grasp fell soon after, and Harry levitated them both behind a dumpster to shield them from view of any Muggles passing by. Then Hermione withdrew the two vials of Polyjuice Potion from her robes as she and Harry began to quickly change into the reporters' robes.

"They're from the Advocate," Hermione whispered, indicating the badges that she snatched from their necks. "That could be good news."

"Good news how?"

"They're more critical of MACUSA than most publications."

"So what?"

"In case we need to start asking questions," Hermione explained. "It'll draw less suspicion."

"Hermione, the last thing we want to do is draw attention to ourselves," Harry groaned. "Promise me you won't pester them with questions and get us kicked out, or worse."

"We came here for answers, and we aren't leaving without them," Hermione said stubbornly. "The people in the Advocate lobby weren't wrong: the paper has a responsibility to its readership to uncover the truth."

"We don't represent the paper, Hermione," Harry reminded her. "We're wanted criminals with a responsibility for our own safety first and foremost."

"Oh, I know that, Harry," Hermione huffed. "I won't get us caught, I swear."

They didn't have long to debate this point. They each plucked hairs from the two unconscious reporters and deposited them into their respective potions. Harry's smelled vaguely like sweat and dirty laundry, but he pushed the thought aside and downed his glass quickly. Moments later, he felt his body shifting and contorting unpleasantly as he transformed into the male reporter. The too-tight robes mercifully loosened as Harry shrunk down a few inches to the man's height.

Once they finished their transformations, Hermione Obliviated the two reporters so they would have no memory of events when they awoke hours from now. Then she and Harry Apparated back to the Woolworth Building, joining the queue of people filing into the building. They spotted a few people in robes wearing identical badges to themselves and fell in line with them.

The crowd of reporters shuffled forward towards a door at the opposite end of the foyer – straight past the security checkpoint, Harry noticed with relief. But to his chagrin, a security wizard rushed forward to stop the crowd. "Wait!" he announced loudly, bringing the proceedings to a screeching halt. "You all need to check in your wands first."

The crowd of reporters grumbled irritably, but began to queue up to deposit their wands into the receptacle. Harry and Hermione exchanged nervous looks – they had left the reporters' wands back with their unconscious forms in the alley. But luckily, they were bailed out by a booming voice across the hall.

"No need," said a voice that Harry felt was strangely familiar. "They're press. They can come straight through."

The security guard huffed, but stepped aside to allow the reporters through. Harry glanced up at the man who had saved them, and his heart skipped a beat: Corban Yaxley, one of the highest-ranking Death Eaters, was shepherding the reporters into the conference room. Harry felt Hermione stiffen beside him as she, too, recognized him. Is this some kind of trap? Harry wondered wildly. Will we have to fight our way out of here?

But Yaxley didn't look alert or suspicious; in fact, he looked quite bored. He doesn't know it's us, Harry reminded himself, and hoped that Hermione would remember this too. The Death Eaters have no reason to suspect we're in the States. But Yaxley's presence unnerved him nevertheless – what business did he have at MACUSA, and what could it mean for the impending announcement?

Harry and Hermione settled into the middle of the pack of reporters as they filled the small conference room. A simple podium was erected at the front of the space, with two men flanking either side of it. Harry realized with a jolt that they were both Death Eaters as well: one he recognized as Macnair, who had nearly executed Buckbeak in their third year, and the other one he was pretty sure was named Rookwood. He did his best to calm his nerves and betray no fear as they awaited the start of the proceedings.

After a few minutes of quiet murmuring from the crowd, during which time Harry and Hermione tried very pointedly to avoid eye contact with anyone else, a woman in regal red, white and blue robes stepped into the room and up to the podium. Even Harry, as ignorant as he was to wizard politics, recognized who she was: Dorian Langley, the American Minister of Magic. And even from a distance he could tell that she looked worn down, like she hadn't slept in a week and was burdened with stress. No surprise, given the frightening state of affairs just across the Atlantic…

"Thank you all for coming," said Langley once the crowd had hushed. "As you are all aware, MACUSA has been tracking the events taking place in Britain over the past few months, and we have reason to believe that the wizard who fashions himself as Lord Voldemort has assumed control of their magical government."

Harry had to forcibly suppress a flinch at Voldemort's name – wasn't the name still Taboo? But nothing of note happened, aside from the concerned murmurings from the reporters. The assembled Death Eaters made no reaction either – perhaps a special exception had been made for the occasion. Harry supposed Voldemort would be vain enough to want his 'true' name known once he ascended to the throne.

"However," Langley continued, "MACUSA has been in contact with representatives from the British Ministry of Magic, and they have assured us that the United States magical community is safe. They will not interfere in our affairs if we do not interfere in theirs."

Langley gestured to her left and right, to the Death Eaters standing on either side of her. So that's why they are here, Harry realized. Not as Death Eaters, but as official ambassadors for Ministry – and for Voldemort. It also made perfect sense that Voldemort would want to earn the support of the most powerful and affluent wizarding nation, for fear that they might turn on him like much of continental Europe was surely threatening to do.

"While we do not condone the un-democratic actions of Lord Voldemort, we will not interfere in his dealings in Great Britain," said Langley. "We only ask in return that he does not extend his sphere of influence any further."

That struck Harry as horribly naive. Did she really expect Voldemort to be content simply with control of Britain? Surely she remembered the last war, when his reign of terror extended across most of Europe and parts of other continents as well. And that was with Dumbledore curbing his power somewhat...now he was truly unmatched, with the Elder Wand to boot. Was this woman stupid, or just scared? He wasn't sure which worried him more.

"MACUSA does not expect any immediate impact on the livelihoods of American wizards and witches," Langley concluded. "Please go about your business as normal. Any questions?"

Harry expected dozens of hands to shoot up from the gathered reporters, but surprisingly, most seemed to take her words at face value. "Question from the Chicago Jubilee," asked a witch towards the front of the pack. "Can you substantiate any of the rumors about the Dark Lord's treatment of witches and wizards that come from No-Maj families?"

"I have been assured by our British representatives that such rumors are false," Langley smiled, gesturing again to the Death Eaters on either side of her. "Such witches and wizards need not fear."

Such bullshit, Harry grumbled internally. Every instinct urged him to scream in these people's faces, to convince them of the true horrors that lay ahead of them. But the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself, disguised or otherwise, so he bit his tongue.

"Owen Knight from the San Francisco Decree," another reporter chimed in. "Should people be concerned about another war of terror like the last time the Dark Lord took power?"

"Absolutely not," said Langley firmly. "Lord Voldemort intends to protect fellow witches and wizards from the threat of No-Maj interference in our affairs. We have nothing to fear from him."

"And what of the families?" a new voice chimed in, and with horror, Harry realized that it was Hermione, whose hand was now raised firmly in the air. "Of those with non-magical parents, that is. Will they be kept safe as well?"

"Miss Dyer, is it?" Langley said coldly when her eyes landed on Hermione. "We have no reason to suspect otherwise."

"That seems out of character for Vol- for the Dark Lord," Hermione pressed. "Historically he has shown extreme prejudice towards those from non-magical backgrounds—"

"A malicious rumor that the Advocate has propagated in recent months," Langley snapped, cowing Hermione into submission. "MACUSA is well-aware of Voldemort's early affiliations with blood supremacists, but there is zero evidence that he holds such convictions himself. I would ask you and Mr. Christensen to remind your editor of that, so I don't have to personally." She looked to Harry as well with this reproach, and Harry could feel the heat of the glares from the Death Eaters and several nearby reporters from other publications. Did they actually agree with her?!

Fortunately, Hermione had the good sense not to press the issue further, and attention quickly shifted away from them and onto other softball questions. The conference wrapped up shortly thereafter, and reporters began to file out of the room.

"Let's get out of here," Harry muttered at once to Hermione as soon as the meeting adjourned. He could see Minister Langley whispering to one of the Death Eaters now, and Harry was sure that the man looked in his and Hermione's direction soon after. It was time to get the hell out of there before something bad happened.

"I don't think she was under the Imperius Curse," Hermione muttered as they shuffled back through the entrance hall towards the exit. "But she seemed awfully keen to defend You-Know-Who."

"You don't need an Imperius to force people to do your bidding," Harry said darkly. "Clearly he has his tendrils inside MACUSA as well, extending his influence further. These sheep are just too blind to see it yet, until it's too late." Harry knew only one thing for certain: the United States was quickly becoming an unsafe place for them to stay, and it was clear they would find no magical allies here. They needed to pack their bags and set out as soon as possible – the next morning, even, if not sooner.

Harry could feel the effects of the Polyjuice Potion starting to wear off as they exited the Woolworth Building. His facial features were starting to contort, and he could feel himself shooting back up to his natural height. He kept his head low and took Hermione's arm, guiding her quickly through the crowded city streets towards the nearest alleyway where they could Apparate.

Get out of the damn way, Harry thought irritably as their way was repeatedly blocked by pedestrians. Damn Muggles need to watch where they're going—

In hindsight, he should have recognized the danger sooner. The pressing of bodies on either side of him, the restriction of movement by large-bodied men in matching black-and-white outfits. One moment, Harry felt himself shunted sideways into the alley, pulled apart from Hermione; the next, a burly arm forcibly interlinked with his own as he was Apparated away against his will.

When he came out of the horribly compressing sensation of Apparition, his mind instantly went into fight mode. He reached for his wand, but a pair of voices shouted out, "Expelliarmus!" He felt his wand shoot out of his robe pocket and clatter to the floor, joined by another wand shortly thereafter, presumably Hermione's.

Horror slowly settled into Harry's bones as he realized the situation they now found themselves in. He and Hermione were forced into chairs in the dimly-lit, windowless space, as half a dozen expressionless men wearing Muggle suits and ties stood watch over them. They were caught, utterly defenseless, and alone. Nobody knew where they were, or who had taken them. This was the end, then. This was how the story of the great Harry Potter came to an end…

"P-please, sir," Hermione stammered, "there's been a misunderstanding. We aren't who you think we are—"

"We know exactly who you are, Miss Granger," one of the men said coolly. "Sit tight. The boss will be with you shortly." The man pressed a hand to his earpiece and whispered something into it, then slipped out of the room along with half of the men. Two stayed behind, keeping watch, wands at the ready in case of any funny business.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione whispered shakily. "I s-shouldn't have said anything at the conference. I gave us away."

"It's not your fault," Harry reassured her, though privately he felt that it was rather her fault. He understood why she spoke up on behalf of Muggle-borns, of course, but she must have blown their cover by drawing attention towards them. Had they somehow recognized the pair of them, even with the Polyjuice active? Did MACUSA have some other form of magical identification they were unaware of? It hardly mattered now.

Harry's mind raced for some kind of escape. Any second now, his scar would split open with pain as Voldemort was called, and then it would all be over. They had to do something. Maybe Hermione could distract them while Harry dove for one of the men's wands. Maybe they could barter for some kind of deal. None of his hare-brained schemes seemed likely to work, and he could practically hear the gears turning in Hermione's mind beside him, similarly searching for a way out…

But before they could do anything drastic, the door creaked open again, and a new man walked into the room. Unlike the matching suits of the men who captured them, this man wore a blue suit jacket with a bright red tie, and a US flag pinned to his chest. He looked to be in his late thirties, and unlike the stern expressions of his guards, his face was more open and charismatic. He looked like he belonged on stage somewhere, like an event emcee of some sort, and Harry briefly wondered in his blind panic if they were about to be thrust into a convoluted game show of sorts.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," the American said cordially, sitting in an empty chair across from the two of them. "A pleasure to finally meet you. I did wonder if you would show your faces in the States, and you didn't disappoint."

"If you intend to turn us over to the Dark Lord," Harry growled, "drop the pleasantries. We aren't in the mood."

"Whoa whoa, so hostile!" the American chuckled, throwing up his hands in mock offense. "Nobody's getting turned in to anybody, not yet. We're just here to have a polite conversation."

"Most polite conversations don't begin with kidnappings," Harry said coldly, still refusing to warm up to this man, whoever he was. Something about his veneer made Harry deeply distrust him.

"Sign of the times, I'm afraid," sighed the American. "It would be very, very dangerous for either of us to be spotted in the same room, you see. I could not risk my own reputation by seeking you out publicly. Drastic measures were, sadly, necessary."

"Wait…" Hermione piped up, frowning at the man. "I know you from somewhere. Who are you?"

The American smiled widely, as though anticipating this question. "I'm pleased to hear it," he said. "I wondered how closely you Brits would follow American politics. Name's George Rodriguez. U.S. Senator for the fine state of New York."

Hermione's eyebrows widened. "You're the Senate majority leader?" she breathed.

"Minority leader at the moment, sadly," Rodriguez winked at her. "Though we have midterms this fall, so hopefully our fortunes reverse soon. But yes, that's me."

"B-but…" Hermione stammered, trying to process this information. "Your guards...they're wizards...but you…"

"I am a wizard, yes," Rodriguez smiled. He reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a short ebony wand, twiddling it as proof. "No-Maj-born like yourself, in fact. I attended Ilvermorny as a child, but always felt that my talents were best suited for the Muggle world. Doesn't mean I can't still use magic when the situation calls for it."

Harry didn't know what a Senator was or the significance of the man's post, but it answered his unspoken suspicions anyway. A politician. No wonder he had a knee-jerk reaction to distrust the man. The fact that he was secretly magical did nothing to persuade him otherwise – in fact, he found it equally distasteful that he would use his magic to manipulate Muggles for his own selfish gain. He strongly suspected which house Rodriguez would've belonged to if he'd attended Hogwarts…

"And your Secret Service detail is made up of wizards as well," said Hermione, putting together the pieces herself now. "Smart. Makes it more likely you'll be safe from Muggle attacks."

"And magical attacks," Rodriguez pointed out. "Dark times we're in, as you well know. I strongly suspect that several of my colleagues in office are under the Imperius Curse, and I hope to avoid the same fate. I've taken great pains to hide my true status to both the No-Maj and wizarding world, but one can never be too careful."

"How did you find us?" Harry demanded, not really interested in Rodriguez's life story.

"We caught you on camera," Rodriguez shrugged. "You didn't see them posted all over the underground concourse, or outside the Woolworth Building? We keep tabs on every witch or wizard who passes through town."

"B-but we were wearing glamours," Hermione frowned. "Even if a camera had spotted us—"

"You think we use simple No-Maj cameras?" Rodriguez chuckled. "We coat the film with a dose of Thief's Downfall, which removes all disguises from the image. Couple that with a simple identification charm, and we knew you two were in town the second you arrived."

"That's...rather brilliant, actually," Hermione muttered. Harry might've thought so too, if their situation wasn't so dire.

"What do you want with us?" he demanded.

"Ah," Rodriguez smiled. "I suppose that's a more complex question. I of course know of your status in Britain, and the expectations set upon you. 'The Chosen One', I think you are called."

Harry said nothing. He did not want to give anything away inadvertently, still not sure how much they could trust Rodriguez. He might smile and promise their safety, but he could still summon Voldemort in an instant if he so chose.

"I know the Dark Lord is after you," Rodriguez went on. "My contacts in MACUSA say that you are a high-priority target worth a small fortune in Galleons for your head. I have no interest in gold, however. My interest is in power."

"Then I'm afraid you've made a grave mistake," Harry frowned. "The Dark Lord doesn't like Muggle-borns. He'll never give you what you want, even if you turn me in."

"I'm well-aware of that fact," Rodriguez conceded. "And I say again that that is not my intention. I see a dangerous future ahead of us, Mr. Potter. One where No-Majes are made fully aware of the wizards who lord over them. And even if the Dark Lord is defeated, the genie cannot be put back into the bottle, so to speak."

"You really think that will happen?" Hermione asked cautiously. "The Statute of Secrecy will be done away with?"

"Most certainly," Rodriguez said grimly. "Everything we know about the Dark Lord points to that fact. He wants to rule the world, and what's the point of that if the world doesn't know your name? He will lord over the world like a tyrant and let the No-Maj population see just how inferior and worthless he thinks they are."

"That seems unwise," Hermione frowned. "Wouldn't that just make Muggles want to rebel against him?"

"Indeed, and I think that will be his downfall," Rodriguez agreed. "Could the wizarding world survive a full-out war with a prepared Muggle army? With the full might of the United States military behind them? It would be a devastating and spectacular sight, that much is certain. But I do not think the Dark Lord can win such a war in the long run. He is far too outnumbered."

"What does this have to do with us?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Everything, Mr. Potter!" said Rodriguez excitedly. "When – if – the Dark Lord falls, people will naturally gravitate towards his vanquisher. That is rumored to be you, is it not? I imagine that clout will come with a great deal of political leverage."

"And you want to take advantage of it," Harry sighed, realizing now what Rodriguez was offering. "So, what, you brought us here to make some kind of alliance, and we help you become the American Minister of Magic?"

"The Minister of Magic will soon be a rather pointless title," Rodriguez chuckled. "Once the Statute falls, the No-Maj leadership will be far more valuable. They will have the power to legislate what happens to wizards in the aftermath of the war, and if handled incorrectly, I imagine the masses won't be too kind towards the people who subjugated them in the war."

"You intend to become President, then?" asked Hermione. "And, what, unite the Muggle and magical worlds together?"

"Our worlds are on a collision course, Miss Granger, and there's no stopping it," Rodriguez winked. "I'm simply putting myself in a position to guide the ship towards clearer waters."

"Bullshit," Harry muttered. "You wouldn't be doing this if there wasn't something in it for you. I doubt you're running for President out of the goodness of your heart."

"Of course not, Potter," Rodriguez said, rolling his eyes playfully. "There are many other perks that come from the presidency. The Dark Lord has his methods of seizing power; I have mine. The difference is that I'm motivated by making the world better for everyone, not just a select few with genetic advantages over everyone else."

Harry was almost impressed by the gall of this fast-talking American. He did not deny his own greed, his naked ambition to rule the world like Voldemort. It almost made him trust the man more, knowing that he did not tell slippery lies and instead laid it all out on the table. Almost.

"But why bother pandering to Muggles?" he asked. "Won't they just turn on you like they'll turn on the Dark Lord?"

"Not if we offer them a better future than they ever could have imagined!" Rodriguez said, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "The resulting era of peace will benefit millions, if not billions. Imagine what we can accomplish by bringing the two worlds together! Potions and pharmaceuticals working in total harmony...Divination and meteorology...Arithmancy and engineering…"

"The worlds were never meant to co-exist," said Harry. "Muggles will never accept us, even if we promise to help them. They'll always distrust us, always accuse us of withholding our powers from them. Peace is impossible between the two worlds."

"With that attitude, you're probably right," Rodriguez smiled. "But the Statute will fall, Mr. Potter, and we can either have a leader who tries to keep the peace or one who seeks to further divide us. I know which one I intend to be."

"And in the meantime," Harry responded dryly, "you will do nothing to stop the Dark Lord."

"That, I'm afraid, is Britain's war to fight themselves," Rodriguez smiled sadly. "I cannot risk my political career by directly opposing a foreign Dark Lord. There is far too much at stake."

"That's rich," Harry laughed hollowly. "You'll just stand by until someone else swoops in to take him out, then take credit yourself in the aftermath."

"You are too short-sighted, Mr. Potter," said Rodriguez simply. "There will be an immense power vacuum left in the wake of the Dark Lord. Would you rather another sycophant fill it, or someone who has planned for such an outcome and intends to do good with that power?"

"Your lack of action will kill thousands, if not more," Harry said hotly.

"Better thousands in the short-term than millions in the long-term," Rodriguez shrugged. "Such are the calculations one must make to guide the world out of wartime and into permanent peace."

Harry turned to Hermione for the first time to gauge her reaction. "You agree this is absurd, right?" he implored her. "That this will never work?"

Hermione did not answer him straight away. She was mulling over the implications of Rodriguez's words carefully. "We'd need some time to talk about this privately," she eventually sighed. "Can we have the room?"

"I'll do you one better," said Rodriguez, snapping his fingers. One of the two guards stationed behind him stepped forward, handing him two wands – Harry and Hermione's. "Take all the time you need. Go back to your little camp site upstate and mull things over. Come back to us when you decide what you want to do."

"How would we find you?" Hermione asked.

"My people will know what to look for," Rodriguez winked. "Just skulk around the alleys outside Woolworth and we'll find you in no time."

Rodriguez handed their wands back. Harry snatched his impatiently, standing at once to leave. "Let's go, Hermione," he muttered, putting out his arm so they could Apparate away. His fight-or-flight instinct had never diminished throughout the entire meeting, and every second he stayed here risked a duel breaking out. Thankfully, Hermione heeded his unspoken warning, and she stood to link her arm in his. One heel turn later and they were back outside their camp site in the woods, the sun already dipping low in the sky.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked at once; Harry was already dismantling the tent.

"We're not safe here any more," Harry muttered. "They know we're here. Only a matter of time before others figure it out, too."

"He didn't sound like he was gonna turn us over—" Hermione tried to protest.

"He might, once he realizes we aren't taking him up on his offer," said Harry.

"We aren't?" asked Hermione. "I thought we were going to talk about this first—"

"Nothing to talk about," Harry grunted. "I don't trust him. He's a slimy politician looking out for his own self-interest, and I'm not indebting myself to him."

"Harry, please slow down and think for a moment," Hermione pleaded. "We could be safe here. We could have people watching out for us. Powerful people—"

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione!" Harry roared, and Hermione actually flinched at the force behind his words. "This entire trip has been a mistake. You've put us in incredible danger at every step, blinded by your desire to be comfortable. We're at war here! Have you forgotten why we're doing this? What we're up against back home?"

"You don't have to do this alone," Hermione whimpered, looking frightened and hurt by his words. "Accepting help isn't a sign of weakness, you know. He can help us—"

"Not with killing the Dark Lord, he can't," Harry spat. "Or won't, more like. He's a coward, Hermione, and I'm not associating myself with him. And that's final."

"Harry...please stop…" Hermione breathed, dropping to one knee. Harry realized that the air around them was swirling dangerously, his magic rising up out of him in a tempest of unbridled frustration. He took a deep, steadying breath, and slowly the swirling winds subsided.

"They know we're here," he said, unwilling to apologize. "We have to get out of the country now. I won't hear otherwise."

Tears were running gently down Hermione's cheeks now as she got back to her feet. Harry wanted nothing more in that moment than to apologize and take her in his arms, to wipe the tears from her eyes and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. But he was too proud, too angry at her for all the danger she'd inadvertently put them in over the past few days. So he returned to packing up the tent in silence, and Hermione reluctantly joined in, clearly resentful but lacking the energy to argue.

When they were done, and the tent was stored back in Hermione's handbag, they turned towards one another. Harry offered his arm to her, and she slipped a gentle hand through it, lightly caressing him and resting her head against his shoulder. Harry shivered involuntarily at the touch, and was again tempted to hold her tight and pretend nothing had happened between them. Instead he spun on the spot and Apparated them out of the United States, never to return.

Or so he hoped.